[werewolf AU] A long night

[tiltingwithlips]

King Henry is ill, most likely dying, and the kingdom has known so for some time. For now, at least, the English are thinking more about succession than about rebellions, past or future.

The palace in London is still and quiet tonight. The air is heavy with tension, thick with the smell of worry.

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[tiltingwithlips]

"Only time." She meets his eyes. "But it will ease. And eat well before the moon rises."

[valiantrebel]

He nods. "If that is the truth, I will take it to heart. I thank you both again." For a moment, he seems ready to offer his hand, but Harry's glare fends him off, and he is left to worry his palm.

"The court thinks me here alone and in prayer, but I cannot delay long. There is a door through that confessional. It will lead away into the archives, and from there out to the yard. Where might I send the record of these pardons?" he continues, as Harry opens his mouth.

[tiltingwithlips]

Kate glances at Harry.

"Let it be Alnwick. They will be gladdest to receive them."

[valiantrebel]

"Very well. The rest of the country will have seen you at Westminster by the time it reaches them."

"Let us not be too hasty," says Harry. He nods to Hal. "Until tomorrow, then."

[tiltingwithlips]

Kate -- hesitates.


"Sire," quietly, "I pray your father has found peace."

[valiantrebel]

Hal straightens.

"My thanks, Lady Percy. I have hope that I gave him cause."

He glances at Harry, who still has his hand on his sword. Harry's mouth twists down, but he does dip his head and murmur "God rest him."

[tiltingwithlips]

"Amen."

She moves to touch her husband's arm.

"Until the morrow, then."

[valiantrebel]

"Until then."

Harry is the first to turn and make for the prince's exit. He likes it little, and he likes trusting Hal much less, but this he accedes to on Kate's behalf.

Hal, for his part, merely stands, watching, almost unreadable.

[tiltingwithlips]

Kate follows close behind, only glancing back at Hal once.

The door is just where Hal said, and though Kate keeps listening for pursuit, her focus now is on leaving the palace as quickly as possible.

[valiantrebel]

The passage is narrow, and the the small set of stairs before them steep. Harry is clamoring to get out; he would rather think on that than on what has just transpired.

His body language is not so good at hiding his anger, though, even if he is not looking toward or facing Kate.

[tiltingwithlips]

This is probably not the time nor place for the argument they're going to have.

The rest of their journey to the yard, then, passes in tense silence. When they finally make it outside, the night air is chilly.

[valiantrebel]

Not only that, but word is starting filter out that something is wrong at the palace, that the king has fallen ill, that the king is dead, that the king has been dead but come back to life. Crowds of Londoners are milling around near the palace, in most of the usual streets. (Several are already hawking purported bits of King Henry's bedsheets.)

No matter what, they will have a hard time not being seen.

[tiltingwithlips]

Kate reaches out to take Harry's hand, leading the way towards an alley and keeping a watchful eye on the crowds.

[valiantrebel]

They'll not separate, not for anything. Harry has never been to a city as a wolf, and the sensory overload can lead to nothing good, unchecked. He grips her hand; he recognizes this alertness from battle.

North -- they must get north. The alley winds in that direction, but it seems to open up into a teeming square.

[tiltingwithlips]

She squeezes his hand.

"Harry," quietly, "shall we stay this course? We may yet turn back."

[valiantrebel]

"We are trapped, my love," he murmurs, eyes straight ahead.

[tiltingwithlips]

Kate presses her lips together and squeezes his hand again.

"Then we must keep our heads down."

And pray. Hard.